


Fogged

by tastewithouttalent



Category: Sekai-ichi Hatsukoi
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Grinding, Hand Jobs, M/M, No Plot/Plotless, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Semi-Public Sex, Train Sex, Tsunderes
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-05
Updated: 2019-07-05
Packaged: 2020-05-20 04:28:59
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,168
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19369744
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tastewithouttalent/pseuds/tastewithouttalent
Summary: "Onodera is left to stand, crammed into the space between Takano’s broad shoulders and the side of the train itself while his heart races with speed that has far less to do with his cramped position than he wishes it did." A crowded train ride home with Takano results in a little more excitement than Onodera was expecting.





	Fogged

Onodera can feel Takano’s gaze on him.

He’s turned himself away from the direct attention of that steady stare, has pivoted his shoulders and twisted to face the wall of the train even with the claustrophobic closeness the press of humanity around them forces him into. It seemed a better option than to go on facing Takano himself, especially when Takano is so willing to ask questions without accepting Onodera’s polite evasions for the same. It makes Onodera feel dizzy to have Takano leaning in to speak to him over the rattle of the train along the tracks, to have him so close the huff of the other’s exhale gusts warmth across his cheek, until he doesn’t know what he might say, what he might do if they are left so near again. Better to turn, to fix his gaze out the dark glass of the window and try to ignore the reflection of Takano’s gold eyes lingering on him so he can get home and to the peace and privacy that comes on the far side of his apartment door.

They still have a ways to go. Onodera would like to sit down, to claim what relief for his exhausted body one of the chairs lining the side of the train offers, but of course those are filled with older passengers far less steady on their feet, and even then the crowd presses close against them to squeeze into whatever space remains. So Onodera is left to stand, crammed into the space between Takano’s broad shoulders and the side of the train itself while his heart races with speed that has far less to do with his cramped position than he wishes it did.

There is no warning for the next turn. It’s not as sharp as the first they took, that sent Onodera tumbling into the span of Takano’s chest, but with the supporting handles overhead out of Onodera’s present reach he has no means to steady himself against it. Usually he’s paying enough attention to the route home to brace himself against the familiar unsteadiness, but his thoughts are elsewhere, lingering in the night-dark reflection of Takano’s eyes on him if not watching them directly, and when the train jolts and rattles beneath him it shocks the breath from his lungs and his balance from his feet. He stumbles, trying to catch himself instinctively even with nowhere to go, and when his foot catches to trip over someone else’s shoe his balance gives way entirely. He reaches out reflexively, grabbing at nothing in an attempt to save himself from falling backwards, but his collapse is brought up short once again by the press of his body landing hard against the support of another’s chest. A hand touches at his waist, fingers closing to offer gentle support, and Onodera feels his body going hot with proof enough of the other’s identity even before his savior speaks.

“Be careful.” Takano’s voice is flat, stripped down to the deadpan directness that is so hard for Onodera to read. His hand at Onodera’s hip is hot, even the gentle press of his fingers enough for Onodera to feel the weight flushing up from that point of contact like it’s spilling out into him to lay claim to his veins. “It gets rough right in this section.”

“I know,” Onodera says, snapping the words into the fight he can’t seem to muster for his body. His feet are under him, now, his balance is well within his reach, but he can’t straighten again without pushing back against the support of Takano behind him, and he can’t seem to convince his arm to lift to make use of his elbow and push himself free. Takano’s touch is burning against his hip, distracting Onodera’s attention even as he speaks. “I wasn’t thinking about it.” Onodera ducks his head down, hiding his face in his hair as he reaches to close his grip around Takano’s feverish-hot wrist so he can lever himself back onto his own feet, and it’s as he moves, as his weight shifts to press back against Takano behind him, that he feels the unmistakable heat of the other’s arousal pressing hard against his hips.

Onodera freezes. Part of that is shock; for all Takano’s talk of forcing a confession from him and those few occasions where the other has pressed his mouth to Onodera’s, Onodera has kept his memory and imagination as far away from their high school interludes as he could manage. There’s too much clarity to the heat in them for him to let himself think about them in anything other than vague outlines; but there’s nothing vague at all about the feel of Takano behind him at the present moment. He’s firmly real, hard enough for Onodera to make out the whole length of him even with the barrier of their clothing between them and so hot that Onodera’s face flushes even in the first moment of recognition, until he has to swallow to clear his throat before he can speak.

“Takano-san,” he manages, sounding a little strangled and embarrassingly breathless. “Is that--”

Takano’s fingers tighten at Onodera’s hip, pressing close for a breath of time, but when he speaks his voice is as level as ever, with no sign of the tension flexing in his fingers. “I’m not in the habit of kissing people I don’t want to take to bed. Is it really that surprising?”

 _Yes_ , Onodera wants to say. _You were only ever playing with me before, why would you be any more serious now?_ But Takano wasn’t playing with him, if his statements are to be believed; and regardless of what used to be between them the fact of his present arousal is utterly unquestionable. Onodera’s face darkens with the acknowledgment even in his own head, his cheeks burning to a crimson too dark for him to even think of fighting back, but there’s no shift in the heat of Takano against him, and it’s a long moment before he can collect himself enough to speak protest. “Can’t you do something about it?”

“What exactly do you suggest?” Takano asks. “If I could turn it on and off at will my life would be a whole lot easier, you know.”

Onodera hisses past his teeth. “You could at least move back a little.”

“There’s nowhere for me to go,” Takano says, with infuriating accuracy. “You could move forward instead.”

Onodera snorts. “As if I have any more space than you do.”

“I guess we’re stuck until the next stop, then,” Takano says, not sounding very sorry at all.

Onodera ducks his head down. It’s easier to glare at the floor than to try to hold Takano’s gaze; even in the shadows of the window’s reflection there’s an intensity to the other’s attention on him that makes his heart beat with uncomfortable speed, and he imagines he can see the dark of the other’s lashes dipping with the weight of desire to match the heat of his cock pressing against Onodera before him. Better to look down, to pin his attention to the inch of space between his feet and the front edge of the train and try to think about work, or his irritation, or anything at all other than the feel of Takano hard against him.

It doesn’t work. Onodera’s attention, all too easily fractured by Takano’s presence in other things, is now insistent on its focus, on its attention to the proof of the other’s arousal digging in against his back. There’s no sign of Takano softening; he remains frustratingly hard, the heat of his so clearly shaped through the weight of his pants that Onodera’s mind slips to memories that remain uncomfortably clear in spite of the years that have passed since his experience of them. His skin flushes with the memory of hands at his hips, pressure against his thighs, shoulders curving in over him; the heat of that cock now digging in against his back urging over his own, sliding down to fit between his legs as his beloved senpai tipped in over him to cover Onodera’s trembling body with his. Onodera knows the shape of Takano’s desire, knows the feel of it straining past his entrance and sliding in to press hard into the grip of his body; and his face goes hotter, his cheeks burning as his own body begins to heat in spite of his best attempts to hold his arousal at bay.

Takano’s hand remains at his hip. It’s a gentle weight at first, casual more than demanding; as if he means to catch Onodera against another rough patch of the train, in the event that the other once again loses his balance. By the time Takano’s fingers shift Onodera’s heart is racing, his face so hot he feels sure the color must be glowing to a haze around him; he thinks for a breath that Takano is letting him go, that he might be able to take this opportunity to shuffle forward the few inches he has to move and pull away from the contagious effect of Takano’s arousal against him. But Takano’s fingers stay against him, spreading wider to settle into a better grip at Onodera’s hip. Onodera’s body goes hot, as if every inch of his skin is coming alight at once, and then Takano’s thumb presses to steady at the top edge of his hip and Takano’s body tips in very slightly to grind up against the weight of his own.

Onodera’s breath sticks in his lungs, catching itself to a gasp he only manages to muffle out of general hearing by pressing his lips tight together. His face burns, radiating such heat that he feels sure he must be drawing the attention of every eye around him, although he lacks the courage to look up and see. “ _Takano-san_.”

His voice is strangled, dragged high on shock and embarrassment and the heat he doesn’t want to admit, but when Takano answers his tone is as perfectly level as ever. “Onodera.”

“We’re in _public_ ,” Onodera grates out, staring blankly at the edge of the train car right in front of him as Takano’s hips rock forward to press against him again.

“So it would be fine if we were at home?” Takano’s hand shifts down by an inch, his shoulders tilt in; the shadow of his body falls over Onodera to block him from the illumination of the lights built into strips along the top of the train car. “It’s fine. No one can see you.”

“That’s not--” Onodera attempts. “You can’t do this, Takano-san.”

Takano’s hand at Onodera’s hip flexes tight, squeezing for a moment as if to prove its presence. “Step forward.”

Onodera blinks. “What?”

“Step forward.” Takano’s grip loosens, retreating back to the simple contact he first offered. Onodera imagines his skin throbbing with heat under even that featherlight weight. “There’s space for you to move, if you want to move away.”

Onodera stares at the wall of the train. He can see the gap between the side of the train car and his shoes; it’s a small distance, only a few inches, but there’s enough room for him to shuffle forward, to break free of Takano’s hold on him. It wouldn’t take much to separate the heat of Takano’s body from his own; he could press to the cool side of the train, could rest his head at the window and let the chill of the nighttime air ease some of the heat burning like a fever through his body. He should step forward, should move away from Takano’s presence behind him and the heat of his body and the force of his voice, should retreat to what professionalism they can find for the remainder of the train ride before they go to their separate apartments. Onodera stares at that gap, a distance of inches, as easily crossed as seen; and his feet stay still, as fixed to the floor as if glued there.

Takano gives him a long minute, his hand gentle at Onodera’s hip, his arousal hot at Onodera’s back. It’s only when the other has held still for a span of long, breathless seconds that he moves again to tighten his hold against the other’s hip once more as he leans in against him to resume the slow rock of his hips grinding against the other’s body. Onodera’s throat tightens, his breath closing off with the force of the heat radiating through him, and then Takano’s hand at his hip slides sideways to come across the front of his body and he hisses a sharp inhale before he can call the sound back.

“Quiet,” Takano suggests. His voice is soft, it ought to be too muffled for Onodera to hear it over the rattle of the train around them, but he hears every word with perfect clarity instead. “People can still hear you.” His thumb slips under the weight of Onodera’s sweater to skim against the flat of the other’s stomach; Onodera has to press his lips tight to keep from whimpering aloud at the rush of sensation that goes through him. Takano trails over his bare skin, laying a path of fire along Onodera’s body, before his long fingers slide up and over the edge of Onodera’s waistband to dip into the weight of his pants.

Onodera is aching hard before Takano’s fingers ever brush him. The awareness of the other’s arousal was enough to push him there with no further persuasion needed, and the heat of Takano’s touch even over his clothes had already set him alight with self-conscious awareness of every inch of his skin. Takano’s fingers are fever-hot as he slides them down into Onodera’s pants; Onodera has to shut his eyes as Takano’s fingertips skim the head of his cock to spill a surge of trembling arousal through the tension of his body. They are standing on a crowded train, surrounded by dozens of strangers occupied in the mundanities of their own days; and Takano’s fingers are tracing along the shaft of Onodera’s cock, coaxing sensation over the other as Onodera’s face burns with dizzy heat.

“Takano-san,” he manages, all but whispering the words into the shadows of his hair as his gaze fixes at the corner of the train, as Takano’s wrist shifts with motion in his periphery. He doesn’t dare look down to see Takano’s fingers inside his pants, can’t bear the surge of embarrassment or arousal that might break over him. “Someone--we’ll be seen.”

“No one will see.” Takano sounds sure of himself, so absolutely self-confident that Onodera’s protests die unvoiced. Behind Onodera his foot shifts, his weight comes forward, and when Onodera tips in he finds himself almost entirely eclipsed by the shadow of Takano’s body blocking him from the crowd around them. Takano’s balance rocks forward, finding stability against Onodera’s form; his hips press close to Onodera’s, his cock settles against the very base of the other’s spine. Inside Onodera’s pants his fingers curl towards a grip around the other, his hold squeezing tight for a moment like a promise before he begins to stroke, matching the pull of his wrist to the steady-slow rocking of his hips grinding his cock in against the other’s back.

Onodera can’t move. He ought to, he knows, he should have pulled away when Takano first pressed against him, should have retreated from the heat of the other’s body and held himself as far separate as the crowded train will let him get. But his feet are fixed, his legs locked motionless as if they belong to someone completely different, and he can feel himself burning hotter with each stroke of Takano’s fingers dragging over him and each motion of Takano’s hips pressing up against him. They’re in the middle of a crowded train, with dozens of people around them and the rattle of the rails loud in the train car, but Onodera can hear the pounding of his heart with crystal-clarity, can pick out the sound of Takano’s deep breaths coming against his hair as clearly as if they are entirely alone in the silence of a bedroom. His skin is burning, his legs are shaking, his fingers are trembling; the only fixed point against him is the grip of Takano’s hand, and the wall of his body holding Onodera away from the mundane reality of the crowd around them and within a narrow space of overheated intimacy.

Onodera’s thoughts are swimming, his mind skipping with fevered haste from horrified self-consciousness to dizzy heat to overwhelming arousal; and still Takano works over and against him, pressing them as close together as if the barrier of their clothes doesn’t exist, as if the slow tilt of his hips is intended to slide the heat of his cock within the surrender of Onodera’s body while his fingers persuade the other’s arousal to follow suit. The rest of the world is fading out, Onodera’s awareness of his surroundings disintegrating as if falling into a haze, until all that seems real is the bland silver of the train car floor in front of him and the heat surging through him with each motion of Takano’s grip stroking over him. Onodera’s footing is shaking, his whole body trembling until he thinks he might collapse right where he stands; but he stays upright, stays still and silent while all his blood turns to steam and his skin comes alight with the friction of Takano’s hold against him. Onodera’s cock is flushing, his balls are tightening, his whole body straining towards the edge of release; and a hand comes up, Takano’s palm rising to clasp over his lips, and Onodera’s lashes fall shut as he whimpers soundless heat against Takano’s hand as he comes. His body tenses, quaking with the waves of orgasm urged over him by Takano’s grip, and after a moment Takano slides his hand free of Onodera’s pants to replace his hold at the other’s hip instead. He pulls Onodera back, tilting the other’s weight close against his body, and Onodera ducks his head and forces his ragged inhales as quiet as he can while Takano works against him. Takano’s hips grind close, his cock sliding against Onodera through the layers of their clothing, and then he gusts a sigh that ruffles Onodera’s hair, and Onodera feels the tension of arousal ease into the weight of relief against him.

Takano holds them still for a moment, their heat-humid breathing rasping loud in Onodera’s ears; and then he loosens his hold on Onodera’s hip, and winds his arm around the other’s waist to offer the gentle force of an embrace. Onodera doesn’t lift his head, doesn’t raise his gaze to Takano’s reflection in the shadows of the window; but he lets himself lean into the support of Takano behind him, and when Takano ducks his head to breathe against the weight of his hair Onodera offers no protest at all.


End file.
